


Sometimes Misery Breeds Eternal Hope (and So They Flew)

by friedhottubkingdom (orphan_account)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hope, I'm Sorry, Internal thought process, It's crap, One Shot, Sansa POV, Set up for Slow-Burn romance, The Blood of Winterfell, Thoughts concerning concept of death, abrupt thinking, but i tried, subtle, the ghost of winterfell, they flew, this is awful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 09:45:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4216974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/friedhottubkingdom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa's perspective throughout the events of 5x10 Mother's Mercy</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes Misery Breeds Eternal Hope (and So They Flew)

**Author's Note:**

> English isn't relatively my first language, so writing in english is actually quite difficult especially with grammar, so I apologize in advance. I did this for some tumblr mutuals, but I especially targeted it towards people's distaste with the idea that in every romance is done in Theon's perspective, so I wanted to try Sansa's. The entire thinking is abrupt and not careful because she is running in an attempt to escape, it's all in a pure whim and she doesn't have time to be calculating, there isn't room for it. But hopefully I made her feel human and fleshed out. On tumblr @wardensansa and @ronweasleyx were particularly wonderful to me during the conception of this fic in the middle of a flight. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. This is my first fanfiction ever so it's crap, I think.

She wouldn’t let herself stop, not even to rethink. No she couldn’t. If she did she was sure the fear would get to her. Fear of what Ramsey would do to her, of how he would try to break her. All she knew was that she rather die than give him the satisfaction of doing so. And so she kept on her purposeful trek through the courtyards of Winterfell, shambles of the bastion of happiness and hope it had once been to her, with her head hidden under the hood of her cloak whilst keeping it down towards the floor, she was wary of the presence of any of her bastard lord husband’s guards that would drag her back to her prison.

All around her the workers of Winterfell continued, she could hear them work in their different mediums in her alert state, listening in to the tools rhythmic sounds. She noted every sudden movement, in order to be capable of recognizing when someone had spotted her, so she could run at a moment’s notice. In truth, Sansa had made up her mind long ago when she picked up the corkscrew (?), it was do or die. No question about it. But to have one of the bastard’s men catch her would mean it would be done at her captor husband’s hands. She saw how broken Theon, no, Reek. It was Reek now. How broken Reek was left by her husband’s, her captor’s, activities. No longer the handsome and bold iron prince that she and Jeyne used to admire while playing in the very courtyard she was currently working so hard to escape. Reek is now a disheveled, thin man. He looked small. His characteristic arrogance was swiped away along with the flames that burned down her home, their home.

In some way Sansa was grateful to him for destroying it, because maybe one day in the far future after she is long gone from here, far away from the reach of her husband, she could dissociate the Winterfell from her memories from the endless gloom and abuse surrounding the air of the current prison. Maybe one day she could take solace in that, but for now Winterfell was no more than a taunt, a false promise Petyr gave to her. Suddenly, she felt defiant at the thought and so her pace quickened with every step. She resolved that her survival, her escape, was necessary. She needed to be Sansa Stark, she would not be diminished to a plaything anyone thinks they could manipulate. She wasn't naive any longer, she could see the harsh truth at face value. She could distinguish the evil in the world. This breeding evil that sat in the walls of her former home wants her gone. It wants to break her piece by piece, leaving nothing but a shadow. It seeks to extinguish any brief flicker of hope, of light, within her, taking away everything that makes her, her. Deep in her thoughts, she had walked past the courtyard and climbed up the stairs relatively unnoticed, her body already in deep contribution to her mission, she didn't have to think it anymore, now she was just acting on pure instinct. She had only become aware of her progress as she broke from her thoughts at the sound of one of Ramsey’s men walking towards where she was, and with what she hoped was a muffled gasp she could do little more than turn around where she was and hurry down the opposite hall.

That was far too close and it only worked to make her anxious, causing her to lose herself in the fear, stripping away the control she had found up till then. She became instantly paranoid the minute she lost that balance, throwing away any semblance of a calm composure running as quickly as she could through the hall where they stored the arrows. She kept turning her head back to ensure that she wasn't being followed at that specific moment. She felt relief wash over her but not enough to slow her pace through the halls and walls of Winterfell. She made it past a large arch out onto a catwalk only to be stopped completely. In front of her, stood Myranda waiting with a nocked arrow pointing straight at her…

“My lady, I’ve come to take you back to your chambers?” Myranda began while smirking at Sansa, clearly savoring the position of power she held over the blood of Winterfell in that moment, a predator glorifying the moment before it strikes its frightened prey. She would have to die here, she had to make do with what the gods send her. But before she could continue her decline to morbid thoughts in her mind, feeling like an infinite amount passing, when in reality Myranda hadn't finished, Reek quickly muttered out pleadingly “Go with her, please.” And she saw his conviction as he raised his head and leveled his eyes with hers, she was surprised by the move, it wasn't something Reek did, no Reek would always look down unless she forced him to look at her. He was at most meek, but this, this was bold. Unusual. 

She, however, couldn't dwell on it, she realized that he was pleading with her because he was frightened not for what they can do to him, but for what will happen to her. So when she spoke she held her head high and directed in position towards the hunter, she wouldn't appear weak or bothered to her, but her tully blue eyes, they looked at the only person worth addressing, holding his own sapphire gaze. She had to get him to understand, determined to ease him to believe in her and her mission, “ I know what Ramsey is, I know what he’ll do to me..” At this Reek shifted his gaze to the stones of the catwalk, in shame? She didn't know but he seemed almost at war, with what she couldn’t tell, so she continued on “…If I’m going to die, let it happen while there’s still some of me left.” She felt proud of what she declared, she was a Stark and she will accept the morbid fate, but she won’t, she can’t, let them tear her away. She would probably be held as bait for whenever they had prepared to lure her brothers to return with illusions of safety and home.

Her journey to the catwalk was do or die, she must escape and survive as Sansa Stark for her brothers, or she must die the Stark she is so she may save them from her captor’s sadistic means. In these tense moments Sansa allowed herself to make a vow, and swear to her father, her mother and Robb that no Bolton shall ever lay a hand on her brothers, she immediately swore on her life. And right now, she will die, she was determined of it. But then there was mirth in Myranda’s voice, so at odds with the battle won out in her own mind and raging, war in Reek’s as evidenced through the pained expression on his face, drawing her attention to the hunter once more, “Dying?” she questioned a smile of disbelief as began to draw away the bow and arrow, “Now who said anything about dying? You can't die…” she continued speaking rather bored, as if speaking to a dumb child, incapable of understanding - almost chastising, “Your father was Warden of the North, Ramsey needs you…” Sansa just stood there, if what she said was true then they would surely break her and her brothers, her poor brothers, would have no hope or insurance of safety, soon grief struck Sansa at the very core of her soul. No… 

Soon she found herself so perversely relieved once Myranda began once more, “Though…” It was as if a silent prayer had been answered, as the predator that was clearly trained by Ramsey had fought it’s way out, she could still hold her ground, Sansa quickly tried as calculatedly as she could, under the heightened and tense circumstances, reasoned as Myranda jeered out, “I do suppose he doesn't need all of you, just the parts that he needs to make his heir, until you’ve given him a boy or two, then he’s got incredible plan for those parts.” A wicked smile made it’s way to Myranda’s face as she eyed exactly which part of Sansa she would like to target while drawing her bow once more, and needless to say, Sansa was afraid, but she couldn’t stop even as her body, still covered by her cloak, began to shake violently in fear. But she would not be stirred from her ground, she would be as strong as the storms that brewed in her father’s and her sister’s grey eyes. She will be a force of will in this matter that will not be deterred. 

Myranda began, her excitement shining through at the prospect of a hunt however tame it may be, “Now, should we wait for him to come back or should we begin now?” Sansa felt her breath began to match her unsteady heartbeat moving at too quick a pace to count as normal, she still shook but her cloak covered leaving her head and chin bobbing in a subtle yet still remaining violent in its nature. “You’re leaving it to me? Good. Let’s begin.” With that Sansa closed her eyes preparing for hit and hoping it would be a deadly strike and she’d be gone quickly, with those thoughts she had resigned herself to her fate as she could feel Myranda’s consuming glee present itself…

She could her the bow begin to make those little harsh tightening noises, allowing her to know that the arrow would soon launch itself deep into her person, but soon enough she hear her screech, “REEEEEK!” And the arrow swooshed past her and clattered into the wall near the arch out of which she exited. She turned to the arrows final target, far from her, and then there was Myranda’s voice screaming out an order as if she was addressing a insolent slave, “STOOOOOOOOOOOP!” Sansa turned quickly enough to see Myranda falling as her Aunt Lysa had fell, except this time it was followed by an almost deafening thump and splatter, and an evidently grueling sight that she viewed clearer as she threw herself to grab the railing. Her knees had begun to shake much more violent but this time it was for alleviation of the fear, a sight of freedom and of true hope. Sansa Stark will live for her brothers, she could almost sob with joy as she stared down at her now-dead oppressor. However, she found her self in another fit of panic as she found her celebration to be short-lived, as a horn interrupted her and cries calling for the gates to be open. Then she was sure he was back, he had returned victorious, the opposite of the fortune that Petyr had falsely promised her. Her fake hero taunting her once more. And so she looked back, warily, at the opening gates as she struggled to find a way to survive to make a world for herself, but she could none. 

She began to see the men make there way beneath them onto the center of the courtyard parading, their victory. And she, she was stuck and frozen in her place roused by an alert Reek who quickly and anxiously turned towards her, but when she looked at him once more she saw that he wasn't Reek, it was Theon. A changed man indeed but he was bold, he was quick, and he looked her straight in the eyes. His voice changed, he wasn't so meek she noticed as he spoke, “They’re coming back.” She could say nothing, it only seemed to reaffirm her worst fears. And as he looked he saw that and he made a decision for himself and for her sake, she could tell, as she could only watch as if she were outside her own experience as she observed as he, in that moment, became the iron prince the hero that they both wished for so desperately in their youth and naiveté. He quickly grabbed her arm and dragged her further, as he climbed up stairs and got them to the walls of Winterfell. He let her go once they reached the top and he climbed the above a little higher to the ledge, as Sansa could only watch him do it, she couldn’t process a thought. She couldn't possibly understand, at least until he fixed himself leaving room for her. And he turned around holding out his hand to help her place herself safely on the ledge. She looked down at his hand and understood as she climbed on beside him.

She looked down to see the height of the wall and thick snow bank, whether it would be think enough to catch them from their fall would be the gamble. But she understood what was happening, together they would make this risk, they were both determined to run from Ramsey’s grasps, from which they refuse to be imprisoned in any longer. And if the snow failed to be thick enough, they would die as Theon Greyjoy and Sansa Stark, no one else could claim to them and they would be free, whether it be in death or life, they WILL be free. She could feel as she estimated the drop that her own confidence began to flicker and hesitation slowly crept its way into her mind. She looked to Theon to find him staring at her, realizing his thoughts had followed hers, she found that they both needed reassurance and she somehow found some, she couldn’t tell where she drilled it from but she found her nodding her head ever so slightly. And there was also a silent question Theon posed, do you trust me? In that moment found herself admitting that she has no friends and no one she trusts more than Theon, who let her know she still had something worth fighting for and who fought for her to live, to be herself without the change that Ramsay didn't allow him to escape. So in that moment they both paused and looked down as Sansa’s gloved hands grasped Theon’s and held on tight, the two looked to their freedom be it in death or life, and they jumped.

As Sansa fell she was holding on to hope personified as they escaped the taunting Winterfell offered its ghosts. Home wasn't this Winterfell, and Theon was to thank for allowing an escape from this current prison into their memories filled with happiness and hope the day he burnt down Winterfell, a separation of her to experiences that would have disillusioned her and broken her more than anything had he not created the distinction. In this moment, she was in awe of him becoming like the princes in the song, a beautiful remnant of her innocence reawakened, Sansa Stark, while grown, was truly breathing, her heart beating, oh she was alive. ‘They weren’t Bran and Rickon,’ Sansa Stark was brought back to life with purpose and drive that would put her skills to work. In search of family and home, but holding on to Hope’s (Theon’s) hand, she found that her real home maybe wasn’t so far away. Because not only was she alive but they were both alive. Both of them, she thought with a crazed sort of reverent joy, The Ghosts of Winterfell, true Winterfell, beautiful Winterfell were alive after a long hibernation, refusing to be put to rest any longer, and so together they flew.

And boy, did they fly…

**Author's Note:**

> Comments would very much be appreciated, as I am a bit nervous regarding my end product and am considering continuing it either as multi-chapter or a series of one-shots.


End file.
